Alone on the Island
by HungryInTheDark
Summary: A fifteen year old passenger of oceanic flight 815 and her struggle with island life. But someone is there to help - Sawyer, not that hes's all that helpful. Not a great description, sorry.
1. On the plane

**A/N- I don't own lost, If I did it would have gone on way longer than 6 seasons. I really can't be bothered to write a disclaimer every chapter, so for now that was it ;) The views and personalities of these characters really don't represent mine, and this is my first fanfic, so bare with me! Hope you enjoy.**

Lara stomped down the isle of oceanic flight 815 somewhat grumpily; when she reached her destination -Los Angeles- someone would have some serious explaining to do. When her parents had packed her off to their extended family in Australia for the summer, she had thought something odd was going on. Her gut instinct had been right. Something WAS going on.

It transpired that sending Lara to her grand parents for quality 'family bonding' had been a ruse to get her out of the way for the summer. And the reason they needed her gone? Her mother had a large promotion, needing her at the LA branch of the firm she worked for. However her mother and father knew Lara wouldn't move countries without a fight, so they made the decision behind her back.

Goodbye England, goodbye London, goodbye friends. These were her thoughts as she boarded the plane to LAX.

After checking the boarding pass a third time, she found her seat, thank God it was by a window. After quickly stashing her carry on in the overhead compartment, she asked a passing flight attendant if anyone was sitting in the two seats to the right of her.

"Nope, but I'll be sitting next to you during take off and landing. It's company policy not to let minors sit by themselves incase they panic. Can I get you anything?" Cindy, or at least that's what her name tag said, asked kindly in her Australian accent.

Lara was tempted to snap back that she was perfectly capable of sitting by herself, being fifteen and hardly in need of babysitting. She refrained however,and shut her eyes, plugging her headphones in and listening to her iPod on shuffle. The first song that came on was some outdated pop/rock thing that got stuck in her head every time she heard it. 'You all everybody, you all everybody,' she hummed as the plane started taxiing off the runway.

During the rest of the flight Lara wasn't conscious much, all she really remembered was Cindy calling after some guy in a striped grey hoodie. He completely ignored her frantic cries and shut himself in a toilet cubicle.


	2. After the crash

**A/N- Sorry the last chapter was so short, amd this one is too, I just decided I wanted to post something, even if it wasn't great. Anyyyway, constructive criticism would be really helpful right about now. X**

Lara slowly came to her senses when she heard screams, and explosions, and cries, and panic. Generally not the sort of thing you want to wake up to. She was disoriented to say the least, it appeared that she was hanging upside down and still fastened into her seat. She realised this was a pretty dangerous position to be in, and after seeing a large man in a white shirt get sucked into the planes propeller causing it to explode, she screamed. A lot.

"Help, please, somebody- anybody- help!" she screamed over and over, her throat becoming raw. If only she could manoeuvre her left arm out from under the armrest of the seat, she could free herself. But it was stuck, and her hip was covered in blood.

Suddenly she felt hands fumbling at her waist, and heard the click of the silver metal seat belt buckle being undone. Warm, rough hands grabbed at her waist and hip, dragging her limp form from the wreckage. She heard whimpering and crying, and it took a moment for her to realise the pitiful noises were coming from her lips.

"Shit," her rescuer murmured in a southern accent, peeling her white tank top up and over her injured hip. Peering down, Lara realised that she had a deep four or five inch long gash, practically following the waistband of her jeans around the curve of her right placed her on warm sand, far enough away from the wreckage to be safe, and simply walked away. She was slightly annoyed at first, he hadn't even asked if she was alright, or told her his name, but looking back at the crash sight she saw that the seat she had been trapped in was now engulfed in flames.

Slowly standing up, Lara decided to figure out how badly she was hurt; blood trickled from a small cut above her forehead, there was the cut on her right hip, and she was bruised all over. But nothing was broken, and judging from the still bodies scattered around the sandy beach, she had been lucky.

Realising there were were bound to be others in need of help, she jogged towards the wreckage, stretching her bruised limbs. Taking in her surroundings, Lara realised she was on some sort of island, or at least thats what she assumed it was. Bright white sand spread from the pale blue sea to the tall palm trees. It looked like the perfect holiday resort. Aside from the smoking remains of the plane, that is.

Lara whirled around upon hearing high pitched screaming, a pretty blond woman in an entirely pink outfit was standing amidst the chaos wailing like a banshee. She wasn't even in any danger, just an annoyance to those actually trying to help.

A young, good looking, guy was running up to people and asking for pens, while a man in a suit rushed from one injured person to the next. Assuming he was a doctor, Lara followed him to where he was helping a heavily pregnant woman to a safer location.

"Thanks," she murmured, sounding traumatised. Well, I guess we all are, Lara thought.

While the doctor rattled off questions about what trimester she was in, condescendingly chastising her when he realised she was in her third and still flying, Lara looked around once more. It appeared that things were calming down. The survivors were gathered far away enough from the wreckage to be safe, some dragging the dead into the fuselage, so that they were out of sight of the living.

The doctor tired of talking to Claire, the pregnant girl, and turned to Lara. "That cut could get infected, I should take a look at it." he said, expecting her to comply.

Somewhat reluctantly, she pulled her tank top up, uncovering her injury. "I don't think it's that bad," she murmured, never having liked doctors.

He glanced up at her curiously while wiping the blood away from her right hip "How old are you, where are your parents?"

"I'm 15 and they're in LA," she replied bluntly.

"But you're English?" he asked, beginning to stitch the gash with a small hotel sewing kit.

Lara hated questions that stated the obvious, and she hated stitches twice as much. Rather than venting her anger and frustration at the doctor _towards_the doctor, she muttered "Yes." under her breath.

Finishing the stitches, the doctor, or Jack as he introduced himself, told a story "When I was in residency, my first solo procedure was a spinal surgery on a 16-year-old kid. A girl. And at the end, after 13 hours, I was closing her up and I accidentally ripped her dural sack. It's at the base of the spine where all the nerves come together. Membrane as thin as tissue, and it ripped open. Nerves just spilled out of her like angel hair pasta, spinal fluid flowing out of her and the terror was just so crazy, so real and I knew I had to deal with it. So I just made a choice. I'd let the fear in, let it take over, let it do it's thing. But only for five seconds, that's all I was gonna give it. So I started to count. One, two, three, four, five. And it was gone. I went back to work, sewed her up and she was fine."

While the story was sweet, and moving, it was Jacks condescending and self-righteous tone that annoyed Lara.  
"Look," said jack, finishing of the stitches "We'll look after you until we're all rescued." With that he walked off, holding his back, in the same direction a pretty brunette lady had walked moments before.

Lara also thought it was ironic that he was grouping all the survivors together as a unit, as if it wasn't inevitable that divides would form. At least until they were rescued, that is. This is going to be just like Lord of the Flies, Lara thought miserably.


	3. The first night

**A/N- i still don't own LOST. Sorry these chapters are soooo short, but if you want me to bother writing more then please review. Even if all you do is insult me, at least I'll know someone out there cares! Oh, this is rated T, I'm new to this site so I think it means swearing is allowed? If it isn't please tell me. Also, as there has been a plane crash there are dead bodies, but I won't go into too much detail. Plus, we all know Charlie takes drugs. It's also first person now, I'm not sure why...**

I was sitting in front of a roaring signal fire made by some guy called Sayid and Charlie frickin' Pace. Yeah, that's right, the bassist from DriveShaft! I hadn't let on that I knew who he was as I didn't want to come off as some fan girl type freak, but it was nice to know that there was at least one more englishman on this godforsaken lump of sand.

Anyway, Sayid seemed interesting as well, I guessed he was an Iraqi, but I couldn't be 100% sure. He spoke very softly, and it seemed to me that he was clever. The thing that interested me the most was how scary he managed to be without doing anything at all out of the ordinary. Having said that, I hadn't seen him smile once. But who had? We'd all just been in a plane crash, and no one had come to rescue us.

I was eating a cold microwave meal that a large guy called Hurly had found in the fuselage. Despite the slug-like texture of the meal, I was starving. I didn't think i had eaten since that Morning, and I had been too distracted with anger at my parents to eat then.  
All anger at my parents had been erased by now, I just wanted to be curled up at home with them. Negative emotions were now directed at whoever or whatever had crashed the plane, be it a terrorist or just fate.

I was also getting annoyed with the other passengers as I seemed to be the local charity case. There had been someone younger than me on the plane, Walt. He was a ten year old boy that's dog had been killed in the crash, but his dad was with him so everyone assumed he was fine. I, on the other hand was all alone, therefore I should be given everyone's leftovers like some stray puppy. It was getting on my nerves.

I was about to drag the blanket a nice guy called Boone - with a horrible, whiny step-sister - had given me over to somewhere quieter with less people. Just as I was standing up, a loud scratching, crunching, metal on metal noise came from the jungle. Everyone stood, staring at where the noise came from, and I thought I could see trees being felled.

"Terrific." murmured Charlie sarcastically, and for once I agreed with someone.

I bent down to pick up the blanket, clutching my right side as I did so, but someone beat me to it. He was good looking, I could tell that from the firelight, and when he eyed me curiously my stomach did a little backflip.

"I suppose thanks are in order," he said in a southern accent I couldn't quite place, raising his eyebrows.

"You're welcome, I guess?" I responded after a moments pause, not sure what he was thanking me for.

"As in you thanking me for saving you sweetheart." I knew sweetheart was a term of endearment, but coming from him it sounded anything but.

I finally put two and two together, and mentally chastised myself for being so slow. He must've gotten me out of my seat, and dropped me on the beach. "Oh, thanks." I stuttered, not feeling all that grateful. Something told me he didn't do it out of the goodness of his heart.

"I see the doctor sorted your scratch out," he gestured towards my hip at the same time as handing me my blanket.

I stopped myself short of telling him that it wasn't a scratch and that I needed stitches, but that just seemed petty. Instead I found myself nodding.

"I think this might be yours." he said, dropping a familiar pale blue handbag with white spots at my feet. I bent down to pick it up, and when I looked back in his direction all I saw was his silhouette, striding away into the distance.

After I lay down the blanket on the soft white sand, I sat and pulled the bag next to me, glad of something to remind me of home. Unzipping it, I reached in and withdrew my hand in surprise. It was empty. Empty.

I growled and thumped my head against the ground. Why had he bothered giving it to me if he had no intention of letting me have my things. Clearly he was after something, or just wanted to annoy someone as a way of passing the time. Either way I wanted my stuff back, and I was going to get it one way or another. What infuriated me the most was that I didn't even know his name.

I rolled over and tried to get some much needed sleep, easier said than done. There was the small matter of the monster in the jungle and I wondered how long it would be till we got rescued. I had one of those feelings, those nagging thoughts at the back of your head, in the pit of your stomach, that it wouldn't be for a long, long time. Fucking brilliant.


	4. Meeting Sawyer

**A/N- so its been a while since I watched Lost from the beginning, and I'm sorry if I screw up the timeline or miss out major events. My writing isn't so good in this chapter, and it's quite short, sorry. Please review... Enjoy!**

I woke up groggily, wondering what the scratchy, grainy substance between my toes and in my hair was. Slowly rising up on my elbows, and opening my my eyes I realised that it was sand. Oh, that's right; a plane crash. I hated the feeling of waking up and not knowing where I was, luckily it passed quickly. Unluckily we still hadn't been rescued.

I though back to all of the films and books a had watched and read that involved being stranded on a desert island. One of the first things people did always seemed to be to look for water, then they would befriend a football (like Tom Hanks did in Castaway) or build some amazing and elaborate tree house (in the style of Swiss Family Robinson). Like that was going to happen, it wasn't like anyone would listen to some poor 15 year old girl with no family.

As it was getting light, I decided I'd clean myself up. If I had my toiletries then I could've washed my hair, and if I had my suitcase I could've changed clothes. Aside from how bad they smelled, they were also far too warm to be wearing on a tropical island. The white tank top I was wearing was covered in sweat, dust and the blood from the cut in my hip, while my black jeans seemed to be boiling my legs alive.

I got up and slowly trudged over to where most of the others seemed to be gathered, and saw that Jack seemed to be moving in the same direction. Apparently he had been up all night looking after a man with shrapnel in his chest. I felt sorry for both of them, Jack for having to take so much responsibility, and the other man because he was probably going to die.

We walked together towards the group in an uncomfortable silence, and as we neared them, all eyes turned to him. I quickly scanned the crowd for the man with my luggage, and found him smoking a cigarette, leaning against some part of the plane. He looked my way briefly, showing no emotion, and finally turned back towards the main body of people.

What transpired was a long winded conversation that ended with Jack, Charlie and a woman called Kate travelling into the jungle to try and find the front section of the aeroplane and find the black box. I would have liked to go with them, but something told me I shouldn't even bother asking, that this was a mission for adults. And yes, that last part was practically dripping with sarcasm.

Just as he was about to head of with the others, jack turned to me "Will you be alright here Lana, do you want me to get you anything?"

"No, I'll be just fine." I replied sweetly, giving him a small smile. What the hell, I thought to myself, at least he's trying to be nice. Not that he was helping much- I wanted my stuff.  
Nodding and walking past me towards the tree line, Kate and Charlie followed behind. Charlie winked at me and grinned, then his face went blank and he quickly patted the pockets of his hooded top. Satisfied that whatever he needed was there, he walked away. Kate gave me a small smile, and followed close behind.

Something was clearly going on, but I didn't care what. Until it affected me, i'd just stay out of it. However there was the matter of getting clean, which was becoming more and more urgent by the minute. I decided I'd be able to handle the guy with my bags better once I was clean and fresh, so I wondered half a mile down the beach to a small inlet and began to undress.

During my walk I had noticed a solitude tarpaulin tent, a little way away from everyone else. I assumed it belonged to the unfriendly Korean man and his shy wife, but didn't want to take any chances so kept my underwear and top on. I washed my face and hair, the salt water stinging my eyes, and then carefully cleaned the stitches on my side. Before I put my jeans back on, I hacked of the two legs, giving me a pair of shorts that reached to about a quarter down my thighs.

I decided to sunbathe as a way of drying off, and lay down on the white gold sand, basking in the sun. It was relaxing, until the storm clouds rolled in. I ran down the beach, water pelting me, raining down in hard cold bullets. It must have been some sort of monsoon.

As I was running, shielding my eyes too keep the rain out, I noticed a figure striding towards me and shouting something. I sped up, and noticed that the blue tarpaulin tent was nearing me and the man. I couldn't see in detail, as the water cascading down upon us obscured my vision.

I thought I heard the words "Get in," and was glad to comply. He held the tend flap open for me, and I ducked in and sank to the floor just as I heard the familiar rumble of thunder.

"The names Sawyer, welcome to my humble abode." he muttered sarcastically in his Texan accent.


	5. The lions den

**A/N: so as you can tell, it takes me quite a while to update, but I promise I haven't given up! This chapters probably a bit boring because nothing really happens, the dialogue is a bit off, and I need to re-watch the beginning of season 1 to remind myself of the timeline. Please review!**

**Disclaimer: sadly I don't own LOST or any of the other things mentioned in this chapter :'(**

I quickly surveyed my surroundings, and was shocked by the amount of things Sawyer (if that was even a name) had managed to accumulate in less than 24 hours. He had a seat from the plane propped against one of the blue tarpaulin tent walls, and stacks of the free magazines that are inevitably slotted into the backs of aeroplane seats scattered everywhere.

Curiously, I asked sawyer "You don't expect us to get rescued, do you?".

He tilted his head to one side, smirking "And what makes you think that?".

In all honesty, I was incredibly nervous. I had absolutely no idea who this man was, his body language was decidedly unfriendly, and the storm outside was so loud that I was sure if I screamed, no one would hear me. I decided to be as polite as possible, and instead of demanding him to cut the crap and give me my things I replied "You seem too...comfortable, you aren't panicking, you've just been collecting all of the things people will want if we don't get rescued." I murmured, glancing to where he had boxes of painkillers and batteries piled up.

He smirked again, I was beginning to think it was a trademark of his, and fumbled in his pocket for something. He smoothly withdrew a cigarette, lit it, and swiftly brought his hand towards his lips. Involuntarily, i glared at him. Smoking was a habit I thought disgusting, no doubt due to the images of black, tar covered lungs and yellow teeth schools insisted on bombarding us with at every opportunity. Sawyer raised one eyebrow, sarcastically.

In response, I nodded my head towards his cigarettes and muttered "Second hand smoke." As a way of explanation.

The volume of his throaty laugh surprised me, shaking his head, he put the cigarette out and readjusted his position. He was now sitting on the aeroplane seat, elbows resting agains the scuffed blue denim of his jeans. While he was distracted flicking through magazines, I took the opportunity to study him properly. Alongside the jeans, he was wearing a blue t-shirt over a black long sleeved top, judging from the stains, he hadn't changed clothes since the crash. He was undeniably good looking, but I found it difficult to judge his age due to the permanent scowl his face was set in. I took a guess at late twenties, but couldn't be sure. His eyes were clear and blue, and his straw coloured blonde hair was pushed back behind his ears.

After thirty seconds or so, realising that I had been staring, I moved my gaze from the magazine he had discarded to his eyes. I honestly had no idea why I was even in his tent, and to avoid any more awkward conversations decided to brave the storm outside.

However, before I had time to move he asked "Don't you want your stuff, darlin'?"

On one hand, I was relieved he had it, but on the other I was confused as to why he had kept it for so long, or even had my things in the first place. From my trip to the beach, I still had the empty blue bag that used to contain my hand luggage, and glancing around the tent again I noticed the corner of what looked like my black suitcase peeping out from under a wet towel.

Angry that he had my things, and even more suspicious as to why he had kept them from me, I snapped back "Of course I do, moron.", before registering that what I had said wasn't exactly keeping in line with my earlier plan of being polite.

For his part, Sawyer raised his hands in a signal of mock defeat and grinned wryly at me, I thought he was probably trying to diffuse the tension rapidly growing between us, but it didn't work. "If you're wondering why I had your shit in the first place," he half growled at me, "I was merely curious as to what your average 12 year old kid travelling on her own between two countries she obviously doesn't come from would pack."

"I'm 15, which makes me a teenager, NOT a child," I hissed through gritted teeth. After a moments thought, I added acidly "I assume you were actually taking anything you thought could be useful, provided we aren't rescued soon."

He grinned at me, for once an expression that didn't seem forced and said "Well, you can have your stuff back now. Happy?" He was clearly challenging me. If I carried on arguing with him it would make me seem immature and childish, but if I ignored him it would be admitting defeat.

"No," I replied icily, "Why did you have it in the first place?"

He cocked his head to the side and half growled sarcastically "When I rescued you from your airplane seat, you hardly seemed fit to be lugging around a suitcase. Please forgive me for being helpful Lara." He emphasised my name, as if to intimidate me. At first I was confused as to how he knew it, but quickly realised he must've seen the name tag on my suitcase.

Instead of provoking Sawyer further, I decided to stare at him blankly until he made a move. After what seemed like an eternity staring into the swirling blue abyss of his unfathomable eyes, he nudged my suitcase towards me.

I glanced at it, then narrowed my eyes at Sawyer. I picked the suitcase up to feel the weight and realised something felt wrong. Smoothly unzipping the main compartment and flipping open the lid, I glanced back at Sawyer questioningly.

"Right, I may have borrowed some of your stuff." He muttered absentmindedly, shrugging.

After further examination, I realised he'd taken three books. I hissed under my breath, of all the things I had packed, he had to have the only means of entertainment I had on this island. The books were Harry Potter and the Philosophers Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets and Anna Karenina. Eventually my anger bubbled to the surface and I snarled at him "Can you even read?".

He grinned at me, and replied "Children's stories aren't my usual type, or girly Russian sob-fests, but i figure this here island might be somewhat lacking in the literature department."

"So you think it's ok to take what doesn't belong to you?" I questioned, bristling at his disregard for common curtesy.

"Honey, that's what I _do_." He muttered, grinning widely. The way he emphasised the word 'do' intrigued me and I was now genuinely curious, wondering weather I was hanging out with some sort of high class 'Oceans Eleven' type casino robber or a common pick pocket.

"What do you mean?" I asked, tilting my head to one side.

"I'm a confidence man, I exploit those greedy, immoral, dishonest and dumb enough to place their trust in me."

"Oh," was once again all I could think to say "I guess you aren't the Robbin Hood type then?"

He shook his head incredulously and smirked. We sat in comfortable silence until I realised that the rain must have stopped a considerable amount of time ago. "Bye." I mumbled, grabbing my bag and exiting his tent. I had to shield my eyes at the intensity of the bright sunlight shining upon the baked white sand. Sighing, I made my way over to the rest of my few belongings.


End file.
